The Mirror
by Gabriel Fell
Summary: She was a nobody, just a flesh left in one of many Greyhound coaches going to LA, with a name she wasn't even certain was her own. With a note saying that Chuck could help her, she searches for him, trying to find out the truth. Charah, Carina/OC.


A/N – My first story. Un-beta'd so all the mistakes are my own. Naturally I don't own anything Chuck related. Enjoy..

**The Mirror**

**Chapter 1**

Sudden shift in momentum jerked her body forward, making her land on the backrest of the seat before her, face first. The hammering headache she managed to ignore while asleep now came back, reinforced by quiet chatter of people around her and steady hum of diesel engine. With her eyes still closed, she gritted her teeth, waiting for fuzziness from the hit to evaporate.

'Are you all right dear ?' - even though the voice of an older woman beside her was warm with concern, it still rang painfully around her skull. Just like the touch, gentle and comforting hand that squeezed her shoulder affectionately burned like hot iron against her skin, igniting the urge to retaliate. Somehow.

Getting back to her seat the younger of two women nodded politely and her co-passanger, pretending to be satisfied with that response, quickly took her hand away.

'Where are we going ?' the younger woman asked, carefully looking around what looked like the Greyhound coach. None of the many faces around seemed to be paying her any mind and at first glance none of the faces she saw seemed to have a history worth a mention inside one of many secret government databases. Sighing in relief, she concentrated on older woman's words.

'The coach goes to LA, but there are many stops before that. You'll just have to check your ticket dear' the older woman answered eying her suspiciously. Again, the younger one nodded, trying to ignore the way her companion's body tensed, or how she moved to the edge of her sit, getting as far away from her as possible. Sighting again, she fell deeper into her seat. It appeared that she reached her limit of stupid questions for this journey.

Something obscured the movement of her right leg when she was trying to get more comfortable and whatever it was, it was situated in front pocket of her jeans. With no small amount of effort and after rather peculiar gymnastics, she took out what could easily be her wallet, along with her coach ticket.

"Arriving : Burbank, CA" was written on front page with big, bold letters right next to "Departing : ..." her eyes widened. If this was correct it was her 10th hour on this bus.

'What is your name dear ?' the older woman was talking again. All her previous mistrust somehow disappeared and warm, concerned eyes were looking at her, uninhibited. The younger woman's eyes narrowed. Not enough time passed by to cause this 180 degree change so it was more than possible that someone ordered her co-passanger to act this way. She looked carefully around, purposely ignoring the other woman for the time being. Her reaction should have ignited some doubt in the older woman and immediate need for confirmation from others. But that didn't happen - warm, blue eyes only intensified in colour, never leaving her face.

'Galvaira Morton' the younger one answered before the silence between two woman managed to grow to uncomfortable proportions. She believed the name to be true, even though no one ever called her that to her face. People who managed her space called her "One", or "The One" if she was in a special mood. Galvaira Morton was her reference when her caretakers thought she couldn't hear them.

The relief that washed through older woman's face at that small confession didn't go unnoticed, but was surprising. Galvaira didn't have a chance to experience many interactions between people. Not enough at least to let her believe that name held any other than practical meaning. It appeared that it wasn't the case in an outside world.

'Excuse me' Galvaira said politely, feeling the upcoming headache 'I have to go to the bathroom'.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, once the door to on-deck toilette closed behind her. Small, enclosed space with it's own lighting and running water was, in her current predicament, as close to paradise as it was possible. After splashing her face with ice cold water, instantly feeling the headache diminish, she went through "her" wallet.

Two Advil, which she put into immediate use, a bunch of notes and two cards – one blue and one red, neatly folded in four. She opened the blue on first, squinting to decipher crooked handwriting in weak light.

'Man in Burbank, CA can find out what it is you're looking for. Use wisely' was all it said. Galvaira pondered the meaning of second sentence. 'Use wisely' - but what ? The information or the man ? Something inside told her, that wondering about it right now wasn't the best use of her time. Shrugging, she unfolded red piece of the paper. There, written in neat, curly handwriting was single name : "Charles Carmichael".

The flash hit her like a hammer. The pain erupted somewhere in the back of her skull and travelled downwards in waves. Along her spine, setting on fire all the nerve endings it managed to encounter along the way. Time slowed down to a terribly lazy crawl. She could feel her consciousness loosing control over her body, as the blackness in front of her eyes showed up more and more frequently. Her left arm moved close to her mouth on it's own accord and Galvaira bit hard on it, searching for some sort of distraction. It quickly proved to be completely useless, but at least it prevented her from screaming.

Second flash hit her somewhere in the middle of the first one, right after she encountered Carmichael's real name. The pain disappeared immediately after the second row of pictures showed up in front of her eyes. Smoothness and crystal clarity her caretakers were so proud of returned full force and a small smile graced her face as she took her first big breath of air in what seemed like forever.

3 minutes and 58 flashes later Galvaira was certain she could write whole encyclopaedia on one Chuck Bartowski. It didn't matter that her body felt like it was forced to run a marathon with duck taped mouth. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, it even hurt to blink but it was finally so easy to think. She made a mental note to thank later whoever managed to inject her with Intersect blocking serum.

'Are you all right ?' her co-passanger asked, concerned when she came back and for the first time Galvaira's smile reached her eyes. 'Everything's fine now'.

**3 hours later **

**Burbank, CA**

The bus left the station close to an hour ago and Galvaira hadn't moved from the place they left her, not even an inch. It was true that she didn't notice any of her caretakers on the bus, but they never, under no circumstances, left her on her own. Ever since she could remember, freedom was always an abstract concept and there was really no reason for it to change now.

She tried looking around for familiar face every now and then, but it proved futile. Finally her sight rested on a spot several inches from the tip of her shoes and stayed there, waiting. It could be minutes as well as hours, but with every passing instance her resolve hardened and finally she felt familiar touch on her left arm.

Her eyes widened when she discovered that the touch didn't come from anyone she knew. It was her other arm, gently rubbing her now cold skin. With that simple gesture and realization it brought, the reality finally came crushing down.

She was alone. No one was coming to take her to her space, no one was going to tell her what to do, or how. Alone.

Forgeting her surroundings, Galvaira looked up to the sky. Quickly, before moisture in her eyes could turn into proper tears.

For the first time in her life she was alone and for the first time, she was going to put her ill-placed freedom to good use.

It was time to meet one Chuck Bartowski.

A/N - Hope you guys enjoyed the introduction.


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